


threads

by slowlange



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: (a little) jealousy, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Explicit Sexual Content, Hotel Sex, Incest, M/M, Reunion Sex, Reunions, Riding, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-22
Updated: 2021-01-22
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:34:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28374753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slowlange/pseuds/slowlange
Summary: A reunion takes place between a few volleyball teams that have threads tied to each other, through a common friendship nurtured by years partaking in what they love. Inarizaki, Aoba-Johsai, Karasuno, Nekoma...But the only thread that Atsumu cares about is the one between him and Osamu. And it’s tangled.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Miya Osamu
Comments: 10
Kudos: 165





	threads

**Author's Note:**

> the story behind this fic is kinda funny, no lie. i wrote it all out kind of roughly in a discord channel unexpectedly and i ended up loving it so much i decided to flesh it out into an actual fic. no regrets, tbh. my heart is warm.
> 
> just a reminder for those who may or may not have read tags (since some have avoided doing so in previous fics), this is a miyacest fic. twincest. they will kiss. it is, inevitable. this is your final warning. 
> 
> besides that, please! enjoy!

Atsumu struggles with his tie, trying to get ready before he can even unpack his bags, painfully aware of how late he’s going to be to this event. Mind reeling, he runs through his checklist of things to do before he’ll have to make a mad dash out of his apartment and into an Uber. Thankfully, those who were waiting for him were used to his tendency to be rather tardy to just about anything they planned, but this was different. Atsumu wanted to play this differently, be punctual and settled beforehand rather than scrambling as he walked inside.

It wasn’t all about setting a respectable standard for himself or anything like that. It was about Osamu.

His stupid brother was the only thing on his mind, from the flight to Tokyo to the hassle he went through to stumble into his apartment an hour before their volleyball reunion began. 

He wasn’t going to go, at first. The window was too close (hence, the rush to get dressed and in an Uber) and Atsumu knew he wouldn’t be in a socializing mood after such a long, exhausting time overseas. But it was a mere phone call with Osamu that flipped his plans one-eighty. 

“You’re going?” Atsumu had said as he watched Osamu wash the last of the dishes in the back room of his restaurant, all through the scope of his phone screen.

“Yeah!” Osamu calls out. “You’re not?”

Atsumu sputtered. The  _ last  _ person he expected to go, was Osamu.

“W-What about the restaurant?”

“You think I’m the only employee here?”

“B-But it’s your pride and joy!” Atsumu exclaimed, hands thrown in Osamu’s virtual direction. “What, you’re just gonna leave it there with some fucking teenager?!”

“You act like you’ve never been a teenager,” Osamu snorted as he snatched the phone from where he’d stood it up a few minutes ago.

“No, I  _ was  _ a teenager. That’s exactly why I’m saying don’t do it.”

“Atsumu, you’re twenty-four. Teenagers have changed since our time. Some of them are pretty responsible nowadays.”

“I still don’t think it’s a good idea,” he huffed, the butterflies in his stomach rising to his throat at the mere  _ thought  _ of Osamu flying in from Hyogo to see him. Or, everyone, he supposed.

“I do,” Osamu said quieter then, heading over to lock the front door (Atsumu knows his routine), “I’ve been kind of missing everyone. Plus, I need a vacation. And, well, I get to see you.”

_ To see him? _

“You may be right…” Atsumu tried to smile as anxious worms began to slither around in his stomach.

“Yeah. I miss you, ‘Tsumu.”

It was the wrong time, but he thought of their last year of high school. How he spent most of it angry, ignoring Osamu because he was going to quit volleyball, leave him alone in the sport that they’d flourished in  _ together _ . He couldn’t help but think about how Osamu wouldn’t miss him if he’d stayed with him, if they went to the Olympics together. They could have conquered the volleyball world, sure, but more importantly, they wouldn’t need to miss each other like this. Like they are  _ now _ .

Though, perhaps Atsumu had always missed Osamu a little bit more than the other way around. 

“So I’ll come,” he insisted. “I’ll fly in and grab a hotel room overnight.”

“O-Or you could stay with me,” Atsumu offered despite the screams and shouts to do anything but that.

  
“Really?”

“Yeah.” He nodded weakly, a heavy gulp following. “I mean, I don’t want you to pay when you could just stay in the second bedroom.”

“Isn’t that for storage?”

“I’ll clean it up for you.”

A smile had eased onto Osamu’s face and, gently, he murmured a quiet thanks. 

“You’re the best, ‘Tsumu,” he’d said afterward.

“I try.” Is all he could say.

And he  _ did  _ try, if he were to look back at everything that had gone down between them, from adolescence to adulthood. He tried to be the best brother he could possibly be, in his worst and his best moments. And no matter how much he fought, he  _ still  _ couldn’t achieve it. Couldn’t shake the elephant in the room of his mind.

He was in love. And everything about it was wrong. The timing, the capacity of said love, and worst of all, the person at the center of it all.

It was easier to ignore when they separated, versus living in a shared, packed room during high school. Despite the relief that came with not having to think of his feelings, it hurt all the same when Osamu left for culinary school. He had plans and demons to run from, but the way his heart blooms when he’s with his brother was irreplaceable. One of the most prevalent aspects of his life.

It had been years since then. He had more than enough time to drill it out of him, move on, find solace in other people and places. Soon enough, it became apparent that there was nowhere to escape from Osamu. Not when Atsumu’s heart, body, and mind had already carved out a home that existed at his side.

Tonight would be the first night he truly remembers what the embrace of that safety feels like. To have someone that knows you like the back of your hand so close, but so goddamn far.

The city passes by outside of the tinted window of Atsumu’s Uber, blurs of warm hues flashing before tired eyes. Perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad if he dropped out last minute. He  _ is  _ tired, and the slim margin of time was a believable excuse. But Osamu would still end up at his apartment, and that was more intimate than a large venue with a never-ending buffet. It was a lose-lose situation.

He takes his phone out of his pocket, scrolling through his text notifications as the large ‘7:15’ at the top of the screen provides more unease. Most of these texts question his whereabouts: Hinata, Bokuto, Sakusa, but nothing from Osamu. He supposes his brother knows of his habits better than anyone though, probably not worried in the slightest. 

He’s uncomfortable in his own skin, sweating out his suit before he’s even arrived and uncomfortable no matter how he positions himself in the back seat. Even his  _ ass  _ feels damp with sweat, and it disgusts him. Fucking  _ Osamu _ . Fuck fuck fuck  _ fuck _ \--

“We’re here.”

The internal terror screeches to a halt, much like the vehicle itself. The driver parks and Atsumu shifts forward, surprised that they’ve even arrived this quickly. His time is up? Already?

“I--how--”

“You’re a volleyball player, right?” The driver asks.

“Yeah. I am,” Atsumu responds, still a tad bewildered.

“I’ve driven two other people to the same venue. Figured you were late.”

“Thank you.” He gives the driver a pained smile. Of course he figured he was late. Usually people weren’t so attentive and courteous to their drivers, but Atsumu’s had to be the one that was. A little more time in the car would have been appreciated, but it’s not like the man knew about the internal war he was working through.

It seemed fitting on the day he’s been dreading and anticipating for months now.

Tires grind against asphalt, the last escape route he has vanishing into the night, blurring into the rows of cars that pile onto the highway. Atsumu stands stiffly in front of the venue after he loses sight of it, takes a deep breath in, and out, before rubbing his hands together. Nerves aside, he knows who he is. This should be simple.

Though, the fact that he has to give himself a pep talk before approaching his  _ friends,  _ after doing weeks’ worth of fan and social events, slices his confidence into a billion pitiful pieces. So much for being the great and charismatic Miya Atsumu.

With a sigh and nothing much left to tell himself beforehand, he takes the first few steps forward. He adjusts his tie gently when walking through the large arcs that lead to the large set of double doors at the end of the hall. The end seems farther, yet closer, the further he gets. The noise from inside grows louder as well, whoops and hollers, crisp and clear, echoing within the hollow hall. And from the outside, it sounds  _ fun _ . The thud of the bass adds a skip to his step, and he would dance the rest of the way if he hadn’t already arrived.

He feels a bit better as he pushes the door open with a great force, revealing the utter elegance of their rented banquet hall. The pattern of wide arcs continues as you enter the room, but their rich cream color is masked by obnoxiously bright LEDs. The kind you’d see outside rather than inside, bringing life to restaurant signs and city blocks. He isn’t sure if the choice of lighting matches the table settings and the dress code (he’s dressed like he was for Aran’s wedding), but he knows this bunch is a strange one. Only they would mix two contrasting compositions and make it work. Not that they would necessarily care either way. 

Because the place  _ does  _ look gorgeous. Better than he expected, at least. And it’s  _ filled  _ with people, alive and jubilant and wow, on any other night, this would be heaven.

The pandemonium crashes over him abruptly: the music, the smells of delicious finger food, the clear  _ pop  _ of a bottle of champagne, and Bokuto.

_ Bokuto. _

“Tsum-Tsum!”

He wraps a heavy arm around his neck before pulling him in for a tight, almost uncomfy embrace. He’s usually up for the antics and boyish playfulness, but his nerves are sticking out like thorns and every single touch and interaction he has makes him sweat more. 

“Hey!” He musters with a weak smile, “Hey guys.”

Hinata is in front of him, waving wildly as Kageyama hangs behind him, the two as inseparable as they were in high school. He gives Kageyama a wave, a light wiggle of his fingers, to which he nods back respectfully. He’s relieved that this seems to be the end of their conversation. One less person to deal with.

Someone—crap, it’s Kita,  _ crap _ —grabs him a drink and he chugs it gratefully before requesting a refill just as fast. He says hi shortly after the realization, reverting back to more submissive times as he addresses him. Kita doesn’t seem to care either way, gives Atsumu a pat on the back and an easy smile.

“It’s nice to see you, Miya,” he says. Atsumu returns the smile as he walks away.

Bokuto takes it upon himself to drag him along the outskirts of the venue afterward, where the wallflowers bloom and weave into the walls. He reunites with Akaashi there, and they chat for a while before Bokuto whisks him elsewhere. The pattern repeats itself for a while, greetings here and there, small talk, even an autograph once. They mean less and less as Atsumu goes down the line. He loves these people, as well as those close to them, but he feels so far from the event, it’s like he’s not even here. Floating away and out of his dress shoes, above the noise and the crowds in search of his fixation.

He gets his refill at some point and ends up getting a third helping right afterward. It isn’t until Hinata shakes his side, pointing to one of the far corners, that he’s grounded.

“Atsumu-san!” His grip is tight on his jacket, “Isn’t that your brother?”

Atsumu’s eyes widen a smidge. 

“Where?!” He forgets to suppress his emotion in the heat of the moment. 

The panic that had been swimming around all night crushes together into one giant boulder that falls into his stomach as he stares down at Hinata, completely innocent to what he’s done. The ball he’s pushed off the edge.

_ Osamu. _

The glass in his hand weighs a ton as he cranes his head, trying to get a better look at him from afar before making his approach, the rest of his entourage forgotten. His stomach twists when his eyes land on Suna. His arm is extended across the table, hand fasted on Osamu’s shoulder as they laugh together. Osamu… he’s got a smile on his face. It’s  _ that  _ smile, too. It’s a rarity to see outside of the bedroom they once shared back at home, or on FaceTime after he’s finally had a moment to sit down after a long day. It stirs something sweet in his chest.

That is, until he remembers that it’s  _ Suna  _ bringing about that smile.

Hinata calls out behind him but he’s already walking, a thin red string (he wishes it were red, after all) tugging him closer and closer to his brother. He doesn’t hear his voice until he’s a ruler’s length away, and Osamu faces him quickly. His face lights up instantly. Atsumu swears someone’s hit the back of his knees, feels like he’s completely incapable of keeping stable.

“‘Tsumu!” 

Osamu pulls him into a heavy hug before Atsumu can prepare. He wraps his arms around him like it’s nothing and all Atsumu can do is stand as he’s embraced. Osamu’s chest is soft, like hotel pillows. He didn’t have an idea of how long it had been since they touched each other until he felt Osamu against his suit,  _ burning  _ through the fabric and scarring his skin. Good god. 

_ Silly Crush  _ plays in the background. It feels like it was planned.

When the haze fades and Osamu pulls them apart he remembers that no, they’re not alone, and no, he shouldn’t be as red and flustered as he is right now.

“‘Tsumu? ‘Tsumu you good?”

He blinks, shakes his head. “Oh no, no I’m fine. You just surprised me.”

“...Did you drink?”

Atsumu scoffs and shoves at him. “The hell does it matter?”

“I just don’t know why you’re so surprised to see your brother.”

“S’not  _ seeing  _ you,” He barks over the music, a different song blasting out of the speakers, “It’s you huggin’ me like we’re all touchy touchy an’ shit!”

“Well pardon  _ me.  _ I’ll just never touch you again!”

_ Please don’t do that.  _ “Yeah whatever, ‘Samu!”

Suna chooses now to stand from where he previously sat with Osamu, breaking the thin layer of ice that had formed between them.

“You two never stop fighting, do you?” 

“What’s it to you?” Atsumu glares at him as well, having not forgotten what he’d just walked in on.

“Well, hello to you too, Atsumu,” he says with a plain expression before  _ completely  _ ignoring him and turning to his brother instead. In a softer, sweeter (for Suna, that is) tone, he asks, “I’m going to the bar, want anything?”

There’s a pinch of jealousy when Osamu tells him to get him his usual. 

Suna bids them goodbye and walks away with every intention of returning. Atsumu remembers nearly thirty minutes ago when he would have done anything to avoid Osamu, to not have this alone time with him. But now that he was here, and now that there was a  _ threat  _ within arm’s reach, he was willing to lose a limb to keep him all to himself.

“Can you stop standing there?”

He turns to find Osamu already sitting back at the table.

“Huh?”

“Let’s talk? Come sit.”

_ Oh.  _ He doesn’t focus on the small jolt he feels being commanded like that. Doesn’t focus on the fact that the smallest, most casual of interactions with Osamu can send him spiraling these days.

He’s really gotten out of control, hasn’t he? Maybe he needed more time away.

Suna’s seat is warm when he sits down and he tries to ignore how disgusted it makes him feel. Hopefully, he never comes back, gets distracted and dragged around by Bokuto. Maybe fall into the buffet table, too. 

“How was your flight?” Osamu asks, face lit by the small candle that acts as a centerpiece. Atsumu appreciates the intimacy that wraps around his face and heightens his features, makes him feel that much warmer. The flame acts as a beacon and he swings his legs forward before bracing himself against the table, easing closer to his brother.

“Long.” His elbows dig into the tablecloth that feels more like a thin sheet. “I barely made it here on time.”

“You were late.”

“How do you know that?”

“I—I saw you come in.” Osamu hides behind a glass of water.

“ _ Aw _ ,” Atsumu coos, though his heart is running laps at the fact that—“You were  _ looking  _ for me.”

“You were late! I thought something happened.”

“You could’ve shot me a text,” Atsumu remembers his time in the car briefly, scrolling through names and messages that didn’t belong to him.

“If you didn’t show like, five minutes later, I would have.”

“I’m flattered. But yeah, my flight was delayed and it was a really close call.”

“Why didn’t any of the other Jackals have that problem?” He motions to Bokuto and Hinata, losing themselves in some sort of dance.

“I planned to stay behind.” Atsumu watches as Hinata’s arms flail in the air, avoiding Osamu’s eyes. “Needed some time alone.”

“Are you okay?”

“Don’t worry about it, stupid. It’s nothing.”

“Hey.”

Osamu’s hand curls around his bicep. Atsumu looks at him abruptly.

“You can talk to me about anything, remember?”

He scoffs and tries his best not to look as absolutely lovestruck and touched as he feels.

“I’m fine, ‘Samu!”

“Oi, I’m just fucking  _ saying _ —”

“Still fighting?”

Suna comes back with a glass in each hand, and Atsumu resumes his glaring.

“Thanks,” Osamu murmurs to him, taking his glass back.

“What are you drinking?” He asks, peering at the glass. The darkness doesn’t help, but it looks like he’s drinking-- 

“Whiskey.”

_ Whiskey?  _ “Since when do you drink that shit?”

“As if you don’t,” Osamu rolls his eyes, “and besides, Suna showed me this brand. It’s not bad, you know.”

“Oh really.”

“Yeah. It’s the only one I can actually swallow down without…”

His next words fall on deaf ears. It’s such a small thing, but for some reason, he just can’t shake it. Atsumu really, really can’t stand Suna right now. Normally he wouldn’t really give a shit about anything he’s doing. There’s a ninety percent chance that he’s just being friendly. But Atsumu is no fool to turn a blind eye to the other ten percent. Not only that but since when does Osamu drink whiskey? He’d declared his hatred for it back when he was in college, and Atsumu thought forcing him to take shots of it was a good idea. 

He hasn’t had it since.

Well, until  _ now _ .

He snatches Osamu’s glass out of loose, unexpecting hands and chugs it angrily. The rich, dark nectar rushes down his throat until there’s nothing left, and he slams the cup down like he’s won a race.

“What the hell—”

“Fuck this.” He points at them both, before swinging his hand towards Hinata and Bokuto. “I’m hanging out with  _ them _ .”

“‘Tsumu—” 

“I wanna  _ dance _ , ‘Samu,” he rolls his eyes with a pout on his flushed lips before nodding at Suna, “Just talk to him. Wouldn’t wanna stop any  _ riveting  _ conversation.”

Osamu calls out to him as he departs, but he doesn’t bother to respond, already halfway across the dancefloor and spotted by his friends gone a bit buck wild. There’s a jealous fire that blazes higher than his shoulders, reaching the tips of his ears. Suna. Why Suna? Why the sudden interest? And more importantly, why is Osamu even entertaining it?

“This song is really nice!” Hinata skips the greetings and begins to sway.  _ Love Was Really Gone _ is on. It’s a good song; has a beat Atsumu can wave to aimlessly. He’s swimming through moves, limbs liquid like his mind after another glass of alcohol. Something different from what he got before. Its contents are unknown, being that it was taken from Bokuto’s table.

He won’t think about him or try to see him anymore. He refuses. Not when Osamu clearly couldn’t give less of a shit about tonight. Atsumu, hilariously, feels like a broken girl on prom night. Abandoned by her date in the middle of the dance floor, though he and Osamu are nothing like that.

The stream in his head stops flowing and the room slows. Ah, of course. There is no reason for him to be this jealous. There’s no reason Osamu has to stop talking to Suna. The fulfillment of seeing each other, of closing chasms that have been empty for far too long, is subjective. ‘Missing Atsumu’ to him could be anything. Missing having him in his space, maybe. Missing the teasing and the drinking games. But nothing like what ‘missing Osamu’ would mean to him. The close proximity, the hushed conversations under shared blankets, the late-night FaceTime calls where for a moment, and only a moment, they were everything Atsumu wanted them to be. A simple, pale thread painted red.

Atsumu gives himself to the drunkenness that begs to be acknowledged before he’s crying in the middle of the room.

Not thinking about Osamu turns into only thinking about Osamu sooner rather than later.

Dancing turns to talking, which turns to walking, and more drinking, and it’s an hour later that Atsumu caves and wonders where his brother was. The voices behind him shift to the background, but as he searches for his brother’s dark head of hair, the realization dawns upon him that Osamu isn’t in the main ballroom. The buffet, the bar, even the table where he was previously seated. They’re all void of his presence.

_ Fuck _ .

“I…” Unable to properly communicate, he simply splits from the group. He’ll explain later, Atsumu tells himself.

He wanders wherever his two feet will take him, at first, because Osamu really could be anywhere, but he doesn’t have any luck until he exits the venue completely, surrounded by the tall arcs and circular patterns just outside of it yet again. He follows them with his eyes, careful and calculated as he tries to follow a single path, until Osamu’s laugh rings out from across the hall again.

It comes from behind him, filters into a giggle before it’s completely muffled by his hand. He can’t really  _ see  _ Osamu from there, being that Suna (fucking  _ Suna _ ) blocks most of his body. But he sees enough. He can tell Suna is hunched over as he speaks to him, most likely  _ too  _ close for Atsumu’s liking. There’s no reason or necessity for him to be that close. Atsumu could have a full conversation with Osamu at this distance. Maybe even farther.

Oh.  _ Oh _ . He has an idea. 

“ _ Osamuuuuuuuu _ ,” Atsumu whines from far down the hall, catching his attention in an instant, “ _ come hereeeeeee _ …!”

He leans against the base of one of the wide arcs just in time to see Osamu exchange quick glances between him and Suna, all before breaking away from the latter.

_ Ha ha _ .

Then, Suna follows. He can feel his eyeballs in the back of his head when he rolls them. Feeling exhausted from all the back and forth, his knees buckle and he lets himself collapse on the ground. There’s a pinch of pain on his asscheek, but he doesn’t care.

“Atsu--”

“Oh wow.” Atsumu pretends as if he didn’t see him three seconds ago, sees if he can draw a reaction from him, “So glad you didn’t forget me. Didn’t get lost in Suna’s hair?”

“What?” Osamu sputters. Atsumu enjoys the bewilderment, mixed with a desire to just burst out laughing, on his face. It’s not a competition to see who can make him laugh or be his full expressive self more. But at the same time, especially for Atsumu, it is. And he has to win.

“What are you talking about?” Osamu asks again.

Sunna catches up, and Atsumu turns to him instead.

“What were y’all talkin’ about?”

“Stuff, ‘Tsumu, damn. What’s your deal?”

“Don’t call me that. What’s  _ your  _ deal, Stupid Suna?” Atsumu slurs and narrows his eyes, because  _ can  _ Suna just leave? Vying for time with someone he spent time in the womb with wasn’t the plan for tonight, and he’d prefer not to deal with it any longer. He prepared for a scenario where he wouldn’t be able to shake Osamu off. Suffocated by his heavy cologne and fucking  _ feelings _ .

“I thought we were friends? What’s going on?”

“We’re not friends.” Atsumu isn’t quite sure how he feels about that, no. But right now, he’s a bit pissed. So it’ll do. 

“Atsumu, how have you gotten  _ less  _ mature with age?”

“Shut up.”

Suna turns to Osamu before shoving his hands in Atsumu’s direction. “What did I do? You see this, right?”

“I see—” He tries to respond.

“What am I supposed to do when he’s like this? How can you handle this?”

“I…” Osamu purses his lips and Atsumu  _ dares  _ him, mentally, to take Suna’s side on this. “I think he’s just had too much to drink.”

“No,  _ you  _ have. You and your goddamn whiskey…”

“Is  _ this  _ what this is about?” Suna's deadpan stare stirs a violent intent within him.

“Okay okay, enough—”

“Nah, I’m just gonna go.” Suna shakes his head, “He’s always been more fucking trouble than he’s worth, you know?”

“Hey.” To his surprise, Osamu gives Suna’s arm a tight, intimidating grip. “He’s still my brother. You know that.”

_ Ha ha _ .  _ I’m still his brother _ .

“Doesn’t change the fact that he’s  _ stupid _ .”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Hey—!”

“It’s fine,” Suna jerks his arm out of Osamu’s grasp. “I’m gonna go find Kita. You obviously have bigger problems to deal with.”

“It was nice talking, Suna.” 

Atsumu notes the complete disregard for his last statement.

“You too.”

He departs without another word and though Atsumu feels he’s won, in the back of his head, he’s unsure of whether Osamu is about to rip his head off, or just ignore him completely. It’s always after he’s blown up that rationality comes back. A pattern that has never failed him.

But luck seems to be on his side tonight. Osamu, shockingly, gives him that knowing, almost sexy smile that sends a pulse down to Atsumu's cock, a short "hi" thrown in his direction shortly after.

"Hi, ‘Samu." He responds. Sober. He feels sober. Why? God, how did that happen so fast?

"You're drunk, ‘Tsumu."

"I'm not  _ that  _ drunk," he argues, because he really  _ isn't  _ that drunk, he swears. "Just had a little more than normal."

"You managed to get Suna away. Are you happy? He was pretty annoyed." He glances to where Suna once stood and the beginnings of a growl settle in Atsumu’s chest.

“Whatever,” he huffs. Osamu’s hair doesn't look so flat now that he's not wearing that silly Onigiri Miya hat he's always wearing when he calls, running out of the restaurant and closing up while Atsumu drawls on about his day, though Osamu’s adventures always interested him much more. It looks nice, Atsumu thinks as he admires it for a bit too long. Breaking out of his haze, he continues. “He was too close to you anyway.”

“Too close?”

_ Shit _ . “I just mean he looked like he was, mm, flirtin’ with you ‘er somethin’.”

“Why does it matter if he was?”   
  


_ Stop talking, Atsumu. _

“I just don’t like it, s’all.”

Thankfully the conversation ends with Osamu shoving his shoulder, a playful gleam in his eyes. He seems to be none the wiser to what was really being implied, per usual.

“Do you wanna get out of here? Get food?” He suggests, suddenly and to Atsumu’s surprise. 

“Get out?” Because Atsumu would love nothing more, but the reality of it crashing down on him has him suddenly wanting to go back to peering at Osamu from across the room. He doesn't know if he can handle being completely alone with him yet.

“Yeah, I’m kind of sick of this…”

Atsumu huffs out a laugh. Somehow, they still flow on the same wavelength. “You too?”

“Yeah. Been sick of it. Too much to drink, I think.”

“You’re telling me.” Atsumu may not be drunk (he’s  _ not _ ), but he’s definitely had more.

“Plus, it’s been forever since we’ve seriously talked face to face. Without the noise and stuff.”

His heart seizes in his chest. No one knows that better than Atsumu. 

“We…we can do it. If that’s okay with you.”

Osamu ruffles his hair.

“Of course it is.”

Atsumu's limbs freeze up and don't thaw until long after he's gone. His brother offers to get their coats while Atsumu waits in the hall, and he takes his last opportunity to prepare himself for what's to come. Osamu says goodbyes for them both, and though he feels bad about it, his polite streak falling deeper into the toilet, he can’t be bothered. Instead, he gives himself a weak, pointless pep talk. Because all he's thinking about is the chub in his pants and the overwhelming need to kiss Osamu as soon as possible. A need that threatens to eat him alive at a time that couldn’t be worse.

When he returns, Atsumu gets up off the floor and runs a hand over his wrinkled suit. 

“Ready?” Osamu throws him his coat. Atsumu catches it with ease.

“Yeah.” He breathes, pushes aside the quiver in his voice. “Let’s go.”

Osamu suggests one of the late-night ramen shops farther down the strip and Atsumu agrees, his knowledge of what’s good in Tokyo nowhere near as fleshed out as Osamu’s. He trusts him enough to get them something to eat that isn’t shitty.

They catch up over steaming bowls of noodles and for a while, it feels like old times and Atsumu isn't nearly as nervous as he was when they walked outside of the venue, the brisk winter air kissing his flushed cheeks and relieving them of the tension that rose in that stuffy banquet hall. Osamu had let out a breath of air back then that had similar, contagious effects on Atsumu. He laughed into the night sky, head thrown back with his beautiful hair hanging behind him, glistening amongst the pure, fluorescent lights of Tokyo. He needed a haircut, but Atsumu laughed with him anyway, couldn't tear his eyes away if he tried.

The ramen feels good as he swallows it down, 

“Do you remember Suzui-chan?” Osamu picks at his noodles with his throwaway chopsticks.

“Yeah,” Atsumu snorts, “she was always around you, buggin’ ya for a date.”

“She came by the restaurant the other day.”

Atsumu swears in that moment he’ll burst into flames if Osamu says another word. “She what?”

“Yeah,” Osamu laughs as he examines a stray noodle hanging from the tip of his chopstick, much like Atsumu’s control on his jealousy, “surprised she wasn’t looking for you.”

“I’m not. ‘Samu, she was practically in  _ love  _ with you. Why would she be looking for me?”

“I don’t know, but you’d think that after so long she’d be over it by now?”

Atsumu laughs, though there’s a sting in his heart. The truth is, he can empathize horribly with the girl. There are qualities that he’s seen in Osamu, and has fallen for them as well. He sits here jealous as ever, annoyed that the woman approached him again to begin with, but who could blame her? There was so much to love about him, who wouldn’t be enraptured? They were both stupid, falling for a man neither of them could have. 

“I think she’ll be okay,” Osamu picks up another helping from his bowl before sighing, “but who knows. Unrequited love. It’s a bitch.”

“Yeah.” He knows.

They leave the ramen shop shortly after their conversation comes to a close, and they reach the bottom of their bowls. They say their goodbyes, Atsumu signs an autograph for the owner, and soon they’re strolling through the empty streets laid out before them.

“You cold?” Osamu asks when they’ve distanced themselves far from the venue.

“Nah,” Atsumu shakes his head. “Alcohol is keeping me warm.”

“Speaking of…”

He glances over to meet his eyes.

“You’re acting weird, Atsumu.” Oh yikes.  _ Atsumu.  _ “Like, beyond weird. I kind of let the Suna shit slide because you know, whatever, they know you and how you act. But this has been  _ all night _ . What was that all about?”

He feels like a deer in the headlights, forced into an interrogation he feels he can’t lie his way through, this time around. Not when Osamu’s glaring into his soul, his eyes telling him ‘I know every single one of your tells’.

"Why'dya let him stand that close to you?" Atsumu doesn't know what else to say.

"Who? Suna? 'Tsumu what--"

"I just don't want you to stand that close to Suna."

Osamu gives him a strange stare.

“What does Suna have to do with this?”

Silence. Osamu shoves his shoulder again.

“Oi, what the hell, ‘Tsumu?”

What is he even supposed to do?  _ Say? _

“Atsu—“

Nothing. You say  _ nothing. _

He turns to walk away, working on formulating some kind of escape plan that makes sense, but Osamu grips his arm tight before pulling him back into his chest. Even when angry, his touch has always been the most delicate.

“Atsumu, what the  _ hell _ ?”

Atsumu doesn't know why he's letting his body act before his mind can assess his needs but he sags into Osamu, head on his shoulder just like it was at the beginning of the night, as he whispers, 

"I wanna be the one close to you. Just me."

His arm locks up in Osamu's hold and he can feel a boulder lodging in his throat, fear, and anxiety at the forefront as he waits for him to potentially connect the dots. He can't even bear to look at him, isn't prepared for the confusion of disgust that awaits him. His ears ring loudly, and his vision focuses on the way his breath manifests and lingers in front of him before melding with the breeze. The side of his face that’s buried into Osamu’s sweater feels warm, and Atsumu can hear his quickening heartbeat in his chest. He wonders if he’s accidentally given Osamu a heart attack, killed him over something as petty and silly as his unprincipled love for him.

“Atsumu…” Osamu breathes out after what feels like hours.

“Yeah?” 

“...Do you want to get a hotel room?”

Atsumu glances up at him, disbelief painted over his features.

“What?”

“Do you want to get a hotel room?”

“I don’t understand, we can just go to my--”

“No,” Osamu cups his head in his hands for a few short seconds that throw Atsumu off balance, “I wanna get a hotel room.”

_ Oh.  _ “Okay.”

Atsumu doesn’t really remember much between Osamu releasing his arm, and when they’re checking into a nearby hotel, receiving their keys from a starstruck receptionist that Atsumu doesn’t have the energy to entertain. What did this mean for him? For them? Osamu barely uttered a word on the way, opting for silence as they weaved through people that still crowded the streets. Atsumu feels like he should be worried, but at this point, is there a reason to be? Clearly, it isn’t as bad as it feels, or he’s making it seem. Osamu could have walked away from him, disgusted and prepared to cut him off completely. But they were still together, tumbling into a hotel room meant just for them. That and Osamu never let go of his hand until they arrived.

Once they're fully inside and Osamu rests their keys on the bedside table, he reaches out for Atsumu, whose heart jumps at the gesture, until he offers to help him out of his coat. He feels like he's stupid to expect something more intimate to go down, but what else could they be doing here? He's excited in many more ways than one, and his body is quite literally vibrating in anticipation as Osamu rounds the corner to hang their coats in the small closet. Neat as always, never in a rush.

“I feel silly for asking,” Atsumu says once he returns, “but what are we doing here?”

Osamu sits on the bed, just beside him, but keeping his distance, before saying, “Atsumu, do you remember when I told you I was going to quit volleyball?”

Atsumu purses his lips. “Don’t remind me.”

“The only reason I was going to stay was because of you.”

_ What does this mean? Is this supposed to be helping?  _ “And yet you… _ still  _ left, ‘Samu.”

“You don’t understand,” Osamu sighs, “I thought, at the time, that it was the right thing to do. What was best for both of us. I didn’t like the sport as much as you did. It didn’t give me the same rush, the same feeling it gives you. Volleyball could never fulfill my life the way it does you.”

“Where is this going?” Atsumu interrupts a bit of fury on the tip of his tongue, “I’ve heard all of this before. Why are you bringing it all up again?”

“You don’t understand why I left.”

“Then  _ tell me,  _ ‘Samu _ \-- _ ”

“Because it was changing, ‘Tsumu. It was all changing, and I could barely keep up. You were the only thing that brought me to practice every day, and even  _ that  _ changed. I wasn’t just doing it  _ for  _ you. I was doing it  _ because  _ of you. For  _ me _ .”

  
“‘’Samu…”

“I… _ loved  _ you loved you.”

And suddenly, it all makes sense. Everything that Osamu had said back then, the way he could barely look him in the eyes when he was turning in his jersey. Atsumu saw the scenes playing back like a movie, and his heart weeps for Osamu then and there.

“I left because I thought that if I stayed longer, it would get worse. I couldn’t stay, because it wouldn’t be fair or right of me to encourage something that could never really happen between us--” 

And though Atsumu knows they feel the same now, and that those worries are probably far off the radar now that they know how they truly feel, it still stings. Because it’s true. And it’s logical. And Osamu was right from that standpoint. But the heart wants what it wants.

“--so I left. I did what I thought was right,” he says, and a tumultuous sigh follows, “But I was wrong.”

Atsumu’s socked feet curl into the carpet, and despite his understanding, the last of the beer he consumed lighting the flame behind a curt, “You  _ were  _ wrong.”

“I know. I’m so sorry, Atsumu.”

“But…” Atsumu continues, “you didn’t know. And neither did I.”

“Yeah.”

“And now you know, we do.”

“We do.”

“So…” Atsumu fists the sheets, “why don’t you…make up for lost time already?”

There’s silence until Osamu laughs, body visibly relaxing and his hands falling into his lap before he looks directly at Atsumu for the first time since he sat down. “You sure?”

“Very.” His stomach twists under his gaze, earnest and in anticipation. “Do it. Please.”

Osamu shifts in his direction, inching close before taking Atsumu’s chin between two confident but quivering fingers (he can feel it against his skin). He pauses for a moment before dipping his head and slotting their lips together. When he’s kissed, Atsumu’s skin crawls, the sensation so foreign yet, in a twisted way, familiar. He melts away just as he always has when it comes to Osamu, whether it be the slightest touch or the way his arms slither around his waist and tug him flush against his chest. Pleasure trickles down to his cock from the movement alone. Atsumu is engulfed in his smell, drunk on the sounds that mingle between them as his hands roam where they please, a sense of freedom he didn’t know was missing when it came to their relationship.

It’s sickenly right, the way his entire being crumbles upon confession, realization, and the peak of everything they’ve been through all these years. To have his hands in Osamu’s hair, his fingers tugging at his dark hair, it feels as if the universe has destined it for them. Years of struggle, strain, and heartbreak, to come together in this hotel room. Atsumu is thankful.

Osamu handles him like a glass sculpture, gentle as he eases him onto the hotel bed and towers over him. Atsumu’s eyes are squeezed shut, part from arousal and part from his fear that if he does, Osamu will disappear from above him in a single breath.

He feels quick fingers undoing his belt and he reaches to mirror the action, but Osamu shushes him before pressing small kisses to the side of his neck and asking--no,  _ begging  _ him to relax. Let him do what he can to make up for all he’s done to hurt him. And Atsumu can’t handle it, tears prickling at the corners of his eyes because no matter how much he and Osamu may fight, he’s never truly hurt Atsumu. Not enough to leave a scar. Osamu has loved him in ways no man, no  _ human  _ has. From afar and face to face. No amount of hurt could cancel out that love.

But he relinquishes his control regardless, lets Osamu take the reins, and his pants and boxers are dragged down his legs all the same and tossed to the side, useless and an obstacle in their pursuit. His cock hangs out in the cold, but it’s the last thing on his mind as Osamu rises from his chest, undoing his own belt and shucking off his clothes. Atsumu takes care of his shirt in the meantime, tossing the tie he worked so hard to get on perfectly. When they’re fully naked, Osamu’s dick just beside his, bigger as it always has been, his brother pulls him up off the mattress and drags him back into an aggressive kiss.

Osamu thumbs at his head before biting down on Atsumu’s lower lip, tugging it in his direction. Atsumu whimpers, eyes still refusing to open.

“‘Tsumu, look at me,” Osamu whispers before spitting on his hand, “I wanna see you.”

“Don’t want you to go away…” Atsumu says back, sounding delirious as Osamu’s palm rests on his cock, “Can’t open my eyes. Please don’t go away, ‘Samu.”

“You’re the one that left, technically,” Osamu laughs though Atsumu pouts beneath him, “but you can open your eyes. M’not gonna leave you anymore.”

He does, slowly, and it’s a breath of fresh air.

Osamu’s smile is wider than ever. Suna can eat it.

“I love you,” he says suddenly, though he doesn’t mean to.

“I love you too, ‘Tsumu,” Osamu says without hesitation while giving his prick a quick stroke and Atsumu moans loudly into his shoulder, tempted to bite down.

“God, more,” he gasps, “please.”

“Love it when you sound like this,” Osamu murmurs, keeping a steady pace as rubs his cock, “all those nights I used to hear you jerkin’ off…now it’s me that gets to do this to you.”

“Oh fuck please,” Atsumu’s eyes pinch shut again, “feels so good…gonna cum…”

“Not yet not yet,” he whispers, pulling away almost instantly, “wait wait wait, wanna fuck you.”

“Hurry up,” Atsumu whines with precum dribbling from the tip of his reddened head. 

“You got it,” Osamu lays him back down against the mattress before pressing a kiss to his lips. He holds him there for a moment before releasing and getting up, most likely to find his coat again.

“Don’t tell me you have stuff,” Atsumu murmurs with hidden disbelief, biting down on his lip as he twitches with excitement. 

“Only condoms. I don’t have any lube.”

“Oh.”

“I can use my spit,” Osamu says, just before a smirk appears on his face. “Or  _ yours _ .”

Atsumu’s cheeks burn at the filth that leaves his brother’s mouth. “Either one is fine.”

“I was kidding, ‘Tsumu. It’s gonna hurt, you know. We can wait. Are you sure you’re okay with this?”

“‘Samu, I just want you!” He says desperately, the mere mention of waiting ripping his heart into two. “I’ve wanted you for so long, the pain is the least of my problems.”

“Atsumu--”

“I’ve been through worse.”

He swears tears will well at his eyes at any point, unable to be helped as he’s completely submerged in emotion.

“Please, ‘Samu.”

He sighs. “Just as long as you tell me if I need to stop,” he agrees as he crawls back onto the bed, settling between Atsumu’s spread legs and pressing a kiss to his kneecap.

“As long as you kiss it better afterwards I’ll live,” he jokes, puckering his lips and all, but Osamu gives him an earnest smile.

“Of course.”

He proceeds to drip his fingers into Atsumu’s mouth, opting for the latter of the options presented. Atsumu takes them in like they belong there, swirling his hot tongue around them all at once. They’re gone after a few seconds, pulled from his mouth with a pop before Osamu reaches down to circle his hole.

“Feels good?” He asks as he presses a single digit inside. Atsumu’s hips buck up and tense from more discomfort and less pleasure, but he nods regardless, doesn’t want Osamu to stop under any circumstances. He knows he promised, but the pain is still within his realm of tolerance. He’s fine. The wet slickness of lube is certainly missed, but he’ll survive. He doesn’t know when a chance like this will come again, with the two of them together, massive amounts of love flowing between them.

“S’good,” he sighs, with a languid roll of his hips.

Atsumu knows how weird this is supposed to feel as Osamu opens him up with two, then three curious, eager fingers. But it’s far from it. For the longest time, there wasn’t anyone else in the world that Atsumu saw himself with that wasn't Osamu. Puzzle pieces were coming out and slotting themselves into empty spaces that had been vacant for too long, a missing sense of arousal and drive suddenly found. Everything about this was perfect, beyond it even. 

He moans when Osamu brushes up against his prostate and the tears fall shortly afterward, overwhelmed by just about everything playing out.

"Don't cry, ‘Tsumu." Osamu's free thumb swipes at his tears. "Does it hurt?"

“No, it’s good,” he gasps out almost immediately.

“God, yes, you sound so nice,” he whispers against his skin, kissing along his thighs.

“More ‘Samu, please…” Atsumu begs now as he rocks into his touch. “Oh Jesus, wanna get fucked,  _ god… _ ”

“Okay, okay,” Osamu tugs his fingers out, “Let’s go then, yeah? How do you wanna do it?”

Atsumu scrambles to sit up before bracing himself on his brother, palms burning as they rest on his shoulders. “Wanna be on top.”

“Fine by me,” Osamu clasps onto his hips, “do you wanna suck me off a little?”

It's better he does, just so Osamu is as wet as he can be before breaching him. Plus, the thought of sucking him off is nice, anyway. He feels like he's prepared for this his whole life, past partners that may not have satisfied but managed to teach him plenty. He revels in the way Osamu groans when his tongue swirls up and around his shaft before he presses his lips to the tip, giving tender kisses when he can before swallowing whole.

Osamu’s cock presses against the back of his throat when he noses his way down to the dark hairs that rest on his crotch. He hums pleasantly as Osamu looks down at him in lust-filled shock, blonde tufts of hair twisted tightly into his trembling hands.

“You can take it all like that?” He moans, hips twitching, “ _ God,  _ ‘Tsumu, where did you learn to do that?”

He rises, letting his cock slip out of his mouth before wiping at the drool that’s left behind. “Doesn’t matter. I learned hoping I’d be able to give it all to you one day.”

Wordlessly, Osamu bends down to connect their lips briefly, before letting Atsumu take him in his mouth again. They stop again when Osamu is fucking Atsumu's mouth with little to no control, certainly headed for an orgasm. Atsumu gives his cock an extra, lavish lick from the base up before coming back up and preparing for the apex of the night.

“Ready?” Osamu questions him one last time as Atsumu lines himself up with his dick.

“Are you?” Atsumu flips the sentiment, “not that it matters after everything else, but there’s no going back after this.”

“Hah, yeah.” Osamu grabs his hips, claiming him once more. His heels dig into his ass as he braces himself on the hotel bed, ready for Atsumu to sink down. “I want you.”

Osamu lowers him down and when he pushes through, Atsumu has to fight the way he wants to arch away from the agonizing ache, too obsessed with greedily devouring everything he can before it's too late and the night is over and they have to return to their busy, unrelenting lives. Osamu presses wet, open mouth kisses to his neck as he fights to adjust, whispers sweet nothings and utterances that overflow with nothing but love. They’re words that Atsumu recalls having vivid dreams about hearing, and the recurring realization that this is his  _ life  _ and that it’s real sends him that much further into the clouds. His nails dig into Osamu's back as he bottoms out, and he can feel the pain down to the roots of his hair.

“Move when you want to,” Osamu whispers beside the shell of his ear before nipping at it gently, “you’re so beautiful like this, you know ‘Tsumu.”

Atsumu moans. He knows, to an extent, that he isn’t bad on the eyes. To hear it from Osamu is different on scales beyond comprehension. His entire body is tingling from the pain turned to pleasure. Osamu’s cock fills him completely, every inch of him pressing tightly against his walls. He clenches around him desperately, craving any kind of friction, but can’t bring himself to move as Osamu’s hands wander; down his thighs, past his cock, up his back. It’s too much for him.

“I can’t move,” he whispers.

“Does it hurt?”

“No, it’s too fucking good. I feel like I’m gonna explode if I move.”

“Do you want me to do it?” Osamu’s already ready to move him, hands hovering by his waist.

“No, no, just give me a second,” Atsumu breathes, “and kiss me.”

They kiss, lips melding together with hot presses and quick slips of his tongue until Atsumu feels the overstimulation from his hole lessening. He pulls away from Osamu’s mouth after a few minutes, taking his lower lip between his teeth and biting down gently. Osamu smirks at him.

“You little tease.”

“I think I’m ready,” Atsumu smiles shyly.

“Did you like keeping my cock warm?” Osamu questions curiously.

“It definitely feels nice,” he whispers in response, swivelling and bringing back the chill that stalled him mere minutes ago, “b-but I’m ready.”

“Alright.”

He rises off Osamu's cock, a low guttural sound bubbling in his chest before he slams back down, drawing moans from them both.

“Again,” his brother says almost immediately, “just like that.”

Atsumu rises and descends, fucking himself slow and dragging it out because at this rate he knew he wouldn’t last long. His orgasm was nearly there earlier, and he hadn’t even  _ moved _ . The death grip just above his ass tells him that Osamu is thinking the same thing, guiding him to match the excruciatingly slow pace he’s set. 

Osamu presses deep into him nearly every time, just barely brushing his prostate, and Atsumu is falling apart on top of him as he’s fucked harsh and dear. A hand furls into Atsumu’s blonde locks and he’s tugged in Osamu’s direction, lips crashing together as his hips rock back into irresistible heat.

He’s flipped onto his back, Osamu wishing he could rail him over anything, at this point. Atsumu can’t feel a single part of his body that isn’t his leaking cock, bruised asshole, or the very tips of his fingers. Everything else is numb, reduces to bunches of static sprinkled along his skin and melting into his muscles.

“I’m gonna cum,” he gasps, “‘Samu, I’m gonna cum please--”

“Wanna finish together,” Osamu whispers, sweet music to Atsumu’s ears. He grips onto his length and smears the precum that had built up on the head. “m’close too.”

For the last few seconds of it, Atsumu loses himself to the steady slap of Osamu’s hips against his ass, to the absolute dream they’ve created within the space of four, flimsy hotel room walls. His orgasm hits him like a train, flashes of white splattering his vision as hot semen spurts from his dick and on the flat of his stomach. Osamu follows after with a gasp, fingers digging deep into hips. Atsumu can already imagine the bruises that await him in the morning. It makes his mind go fuzzy.

Their bodies shake through the aftermath and the cooldown, Atsumu’s eyes blown wide as he falls onto the mattress.

“Holy shit…” He breathes, “‘Samu?”

“Yeah?” His brother sounds just as exhausted.

“What the fuck did we just do?” He hopes it doesn’t sound insulting, but he can’t help the startlement hammering in his chest. Two fingers squeeze at his chin before he’s turned up to meet Osamu’s lips, soft against his.

“Something I wish I had the balls to do a long time ago.”

“Oh, god, you’re so cheesy,” Atsumu swats at him as they part, “I’m dirty.”

  
“Course, lemme get us towels, or somethin’...” Osamu starts muttering to himself as he leaves his space, a nervous tic he’s always had since he was a child. It’s cute, especially now, to see it peek out. It brings Atsumu back down to Earth, digs his heels into the concrete as he grabs Osamu’s wrist.

“‘Samu?”

He turns to him. “Yeah?”

  
“Can you kiss me again? Before you go?”

  
  
  
  
  


When they’re clean, there’s a more naked, exposed feeling than before, when they were  _ literally  _ naked. Atsumu wears clean boxers from Osamu’s carry on, lacking anything fresh in the rush to get here. He lays in bed, every inch of his body covered by one of the blankets they found in the closet, completely untouched. The running water rings in Atsumu’s ear as he waits quite impatiently for his brother to return from washing his face. There were little words uttered as they cleaned up, swapping dirty for new and collecting themselves before they approach a new level of total transparency.

The water shuts off and his skin runs cold, the sound of a steady stream replaced with the inconsistent pitter-patter of Osamu’s bare feet as he puts the bathroom together. The light shuts off and he returns within minutes, drying his hands so carefully, as if he’s about to prepare food with them.

“They’re dry…” Atsumu murmurs, his impatience touched with an urgent need to sleep, “come to bed, please.”

Osamu gives in, eases himself onto the mattress, happily accepting the end of the blanket Atsumu offers him.

“It’s cold,” he whispers while smiling down at him. Their legs brush together, and Atsumu shivers at the warmth.

“Yeah, should we turn up the heat?” He asks, gaze lingering on his bare thighs. They look softer when not flexing beneath Atsumu’s weight.

“Just an excuse to get closer to you, I think.”

Suddenly, he presses their chests tight together and Atsumu gasps quietly, as if he’s being choked. It doesn’t stop him from draping an arm around his waist, though.

“So what do we do now?” Atsumu comes out with it, rides on the warmth that’s blooming in his chest. “What…are we? What can we be?”

“Whatever you wanna be.”

“But it can’t be that easy, can it?” He sighs, tucking his lip between his teeth as Osamu reaches to turn off the light hanging above them. “We love each other, but it doesn’t change the fact that we’re… you know…”

“Yeah.” Osamu tugs him a bit closer, at his pelvis. “I know. But I feel like we’ve waited so long…”

“What about mom and dad?”   
  


“What they don’t know won’t hurt them.”

The mere possibility of them being hurt makes Atsumu’s stomach twist. “I can’t imagine what would happen if they knew. How they’d feel.”

“I know,” Osamu whispers to him, “I knew how you’d feel about this. That’s another reason why I…”

Oh. Oh, of course, that’s why Osamu held off. Atsumu is prone to worrying about others before indulging in anything, no matter how taboo the scenario may be.

“I’m sorry,” he says, sensing the beginning of tears he’d much rather not let fall, “you said all you said, and I’m still worrying about our fucking parents even though I’m a grown-ass man—”

“‘Tsumu, hey hey,” Osamu takes Atsumu’s hand, ready to swipe at his eyes, into his own, “I’m not upset. I understand. If anything, you’re the one acting normal.”

For a second, Atsumu stops almost crying, and they both laugh. And though it's brief, it’s enough to lift some of the weight that’s made a home in his gut.

“I just don’t want you to regret anything,” Atsumu says, fingers squeezing around his open palm. “Because I love you too. I do. I want to do this.”

“Then we’ll work through it as we go.” Osamu sits up eagerly, “I’m patient. We don’t need labels. Not like it matters, anyway. And—”

“Right, so we’ll just—”

“—I wanted to move in with you, if that’s okay.”

The rest of Atsumu’s sentence dies in his throat. “M-Move in?”

“Can I be…frank?” Osamu asks with a tone so gentle that all Atsumu can do is nod, still living in the moment just before this.

“I don’t wanna spend any more time away from you.”

“What about Onigiri Miya?”

“I was planning on expanding to Tokyo anyway,” he insists, “Now I just  _ have  _ to.”

“I don’t wanna force you into that.”

“I wanna do it for you, ‘Tsumu, come on.”

“‘Samu, you can’t just pick up your whole life and move away--”

“But I  _ can _ .” Osamu cups his chin in his hands, bringing him close enough to share the intense determination in his eyes. “And I will.”

“Samu—”

“I’m done. Done running, done doing this whole, not being near you thing. I don’t want it anymore.”

They both sigh after his words hang in the air for a few moments, eyes slipping shut. Atsumu melts into his touch like it’s the first time Osamu’s ever laid his hands on him. Though in a way, it does feel like it. It’s tender, the symbol of a brand new chapter of their lives.

Oh shit.  _ Their. _

Atsumu grins before bumping his forehead against Osamu’s.

“Okay. Let’s head back tomorrow.”

“Cool. One more thing?”

“Yeah?”

“Did you think Suna and I were fucking earlier? Is that why you were acting up?”

“Shut the  _ fuck  _ up.”

“You’re stupid.” Osamu laughs, and despite being annoyed, Atsumu lets him.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading!  
> follow me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/slowlange) and we can hang :')


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